Page 91 of Savage Vows
26
DANTE
The apartment isdark except for the faint city glow seeping through the curtains. I lie on my back, staring at the ceiling, the quiet ticking like water in my ears. Sleep will not come. I turn my head and watch Adriana.
She lies curled on her side, one arm tucked beneath the pillow, hair fanned across the sheet. Her breathing is steady, almost soundless. In the dim light she looks fragile, but I know better. The files on my laptop are proof. A. Voltskaya, relentless reporter, the voice that toppled Serrano’s club and wrote half a dozen stories that rattled City Hall. All of it hidden behind that calm face.
I study her profile, the slope of her throat, the faint rise and fall of her chest. How many nights did she slip out chasing leads while I assumed she was simply restless? How many times did I underestimate her?
My father would call this a weakness. If you know a secret you use it before someone uses it against you. Old Volkov rule. But I don’t want to crush her or cage her. I need to decide whether to protect her or stop her. Maybe both. I picture her in an alley witha dealer who works for the Romanovs, asking questions that can get her killed. The memory tightens in my chest like a fist.
I run a hand over my face. There are choices to make. I can confront her tomorrow, demand the truth and pull her off the story. Lock it down. Keep her safe even if she hates me for it. Or I can give her space and risk that someone harsher than me will silence her first.
She murmurs in her sleep, brows drawing together, then settles. I reach out, almost touch her hair, and stop. If I wake her now I will say too much or not enough.
Instead, I turn back to the ceiling. I’ll gather more information at first light, then decide. Whatever I choose, no one is harming her while I breathe.
I turn onto my side again and watch the slow rise of her breathing. The possessive pull in my chest is stronger than anger, stronger than fear. It surprises me every time it grips me. I have guarded businesses, territory, reputation, but never a person. Not like this.
I try to name the feeling. It’s more than duty. My father’s orders can explain marrying her, protecting the family image, keeping the Petrovs in check. They don’t explain why the thought of anyone threatening her makes my blood run hot. They don’t explain why I cared enough to follow her tonight on foot like a common tail.
It hits me that I don’t want anyone else to know her secrets. They’re mine now.
I stay perfectly still, waiting until I’m certain she’s fully asleep. The clock glows past three in the morning.
Slowly, I slip out of bed. I pad barefoot across the cool floor, careful not to make a sound. The laptop she uses is where she left it on the living room desk. I know she keeps her own files, but curiosity and worry gnaw at me. I need to see what she’s been up to.
I wake the laptop, scrolling through the user logins. She’s set up her own profile.
I try a few combinations before it finally opens with her birthday and her younger brother’s name. Classic.
One folder jumps out at me: “Case Notes.” My gut tightens as I click.
Inside, I see subfolders labeled with women’s names. The first one—Anya. My breath catches. I know that name.
Anya. The girl the police pulled out of the river, the one that Remik is so worried about.
I didn’t expect to see her name here, in Adriana’s files.
Screenshots of news stories, coroner’s reports, blurry club camera stills, pages of notes in her handwriting. She’s made a timeline, written questions in the margins—Why the gap? Who last saw her alive?There’s even a highlighted list of security staff. I see familiar names.
I move to the next folder—Samie. So that’s why she was meeting the guy in the alley today. She was trying to find info on her.
According to her notes, they were both last seen at the Portello before they vanished. And her footnotes lead me to believe, as Adriana does, that they aren’t the only ones who have disappeared.
I close the laptop, my hands cold, my mind running in circles. I saw what they did to Anya. I know how deep this goes. But I didn’t know my wife was risking herself like this, digging after answers, putting herself right in the path of men who’d kill to keep these secrets buried.
She’s not safe.
I sit back, staring at the shadows stretching across the room. All this time, I thought Adriana was just a harmless little thing—quiet, soft-spoken, a girl caught in the middle of a war between families. That’s what everyone saw when they looked at her. That’s what I let myself believe.
Now I see how wrong we all were. She isn’t harmless. She isn’t fragile or naive. She’s bold enough to chase killers, stubborn enough to follow a story even when it brings her to the edge of real danger. She moves quietly, but she never gives up. She’s braver than the men who think they run this city, and maybe more reckless too.
Everyone underestimated her. Not knowing what she was. Not seeing the fighter underneath the careful manners and the soft voice. I wonder, for the first time, how much of her I still don’t know. And how much of my own world she’s about to turn upside down.
I walk quietly back to the bedroom, my thoughts still spinning. Adriana hasn’t moved, still curled on her side, lost in some dream I can’t reach. I slide under the covers beside her, careful not to wake her. For a long time I just watch her sleep, the soft movement of her breath, the way a strand of hair falls across her cheek.
I stretch out my hand, wanting to touch her, to feel that she’s real and still here. But I stop myself, letting my fingers rest just inches from hers on the sheets. Close enough to feel her warmth, but not close enough to bridge the distance between us. I lie there until sleep finally pulls me under, our hands nearly touching in the dark.
